


Bruises

by TheGreenMeridian



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, M/M, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22360840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenMeridian/pseuds/TheGreenMeridian
Summary: After accidentally seeing more of Valery than intended, Boris can’t get a certain part of his anatomy out of his mind...
Relationships: Valery Legasov/Boris Shcherbina
Comments: 14
Kudos: 92





	Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> We’ve had an uptick in anonymous hate messages on tumblr in the fandom lately, so obviously I had to write smut out of spite. Enjoy!

Despite his residual irritation at the man, Boris can’t help but feel guilty. When the helicopter had swerved, the scientist had slammed into the table with quite some force, despite his own efforts to steady him. Legasov had been clutching his thigh when he sat again and though he didn’t complain, Boris hadn’t missed the way he’d winced when he’d climbed out, nor the slight limp in his gait. It would be the decent thing to go and see if he was alright. And really, Boris owed him an apology, or at least some gesture towards a good working relationship. The man had saved him from his own stubbornness, after all. The least he can do is try and get off on a better foot.

It’s with that sentiment in mind that he finds himself standing outside Legasov’s door with a bottle of vodka in his hand. He gives a small knock and pushes the door open with as unthreatening a look on his face as he can manage. And that’s when his intentions for a smooth working relationship with Valery Legasov fall apart. 

Legasov is, in a way, there to greet him. Or at least, a part of him is. A large, plump, freckled part of him, sporting a large bruise and set atop some chunky thighs covered in ginger hair.

“Comrade Shcherbina! What- oh fuck!”

Legasov’s panicked attempt to pull his trousers up and retreat into his room while turning away somehow results in him falling backwards and landing on his already injured arse with a yelp, and Boris responds the only way he can. By pulling the door shut and striding quickly down the corridor to his own room, only beginning to breathe again when his door is closed safely behind him.

He realises as he leaves the next morning that there is a mirror on the back of his hotel room door. That at least sheds some light on why Legasov was bare-arsed in his damn doorway. He was checking his injury, a perfectly reasonable behaviour. That he was doing it with the door unlocked was utterly foolish, but then, Boris perhaps should have waited to be invited in. Technically. If he’s being generous.

Despite Legasov’s flushed face and nervous demeanour when they meet again the man is quickly and admirably distracted by the task at hand, and of course, that should have been the end of it. If Legasov didn’t want to bring it up, certainly neither would he. An embarrassing episode best left forgotten, and likely easy to do considering that the nightmare they find themselves in provides them with plenty of distraction. 

Boris quickly discovers, however, that Legasov is a clumsy man; often knocking things to the floor and having to bend to pick them up. The first time he does it, Boris can’t help but stare at that big round arse, shapely and plentiful even in Legasov’s ill fitting suit trousers, pointed right at him as the man stoops to find a pen that rolled away under the table. It’s only a small glimpse of it, one that lasts a few seconds at most, but it’s enough that Boris’ mouth goes dry as his mind helplessly produces images of Legasov in the same position but without trousers. He knows he’s been caught when he sees Valery’s face reddening, and quickly turns his gaze back to what he was reading. After that, it seems to happen constantly. A day after the initial incident, he has to button up his coat despite the relatively mild weather. His body’s reaction to Valery on his hands and knees is visceral, springing to full hardness with a rapidity he’d thought lost to his youth and very obvious should anyone look. At one point, he sees him bent over a table at an odd angle, his arse encased in tight fatigues, each beautiful cheek perfectly defined and that forbidden crease between them highlighted and begging for his touch.

After a week or so of it, Boris feels as though he’s going insane. Even with everything he has to distract him, even with the knowledge that he’ll die sooner than he’d ever expected weighing on him. Every day finds him struggling to hide erections as Valery’s body draws his attention in some way. It’s uncomfortable, not least because he usually ends up sticky by the end of the day from having gotten aroused enough to leak multiple times. It doesn’t even take much to set him off after a while, even Valery walking in front of him causes at least a twitch. He just can’t stop picturing the man naked. Knowing what Valery’s arse looks like is a curse for a man like Boris who’s always had an appreciation for fuller figures and curves, and such a pleasingly shaped rump like Valery’s is impossible not to fixate on a little. The paleness of the man’s skin doesn’t help either, nor does the memory of how his cheeks were decorated with freckles. It’s the rest of him too, chubby and awkward yet surprisingly broad shouldered and with a handsome jaw. Sharp blue eyes Boris can find himself getting lost in, even with the barrier of Valery’s awful glasses. Maybe it’s Valery’s complete lack of pretence that appeals to him, after a life spent surrounded by stuffed suits and mealy mouthed politicians. Maybe it’s Valery’s obvious bravery, too, or the kindness with which he treats Boris despite how Boris had treated him at the start. He’s a sweet thing, this scientist, and Boris is surprised by how enjoyable he finds his company. God help him, he’s smitten. Whatever the reason though, Boris is spending far too much time imagining the man bent over various surfaces and begging him for permission to come.

But good lord, that arse. Valery is carrying a little extra weight, sure, but it doesn’t seem to be enough to explain how wide his backside is. Boris remembers an old girlfriend, a secretary prone to wearing skirts that clung to her curves, showing off the width of her arse in all it’s considerable glory. Valery’s is similar somehow, despite not having the same trim waist. Excess weight or not, it seems he’s just naturally bestowed with such a generously proportioned arse. Boris has begun finding himself wondering if the brief feel of it he had when steadying the man on the helicopter was truly representative. If it is, Valery’s arse would be an absolute pleasure to squeeze and smack and bite and...

And he really needs to get laid. 

—

The trailer they’ve set themselves up in is cramped, and Valery’s habit of moving through the place like a hurricane makes it worse, with stacks of paperwork and chairs never tucked away reducing the place to an obstacle course. It’s irritating, and Boris has barked at him repeatedly for it, but he’s learned that it’s about as useful as trying to tell the fire to stop burning. Besides, he’s got long enough legs that he can make his way across it all without too much difficulty.

He’s sitting and indulging in a shot or three of vodka before heading back to the hotel when their ‘situation’ takes a new turn. Valery is shuffling around the room looking for something, and under the slight fog of alcohol, Boris can admit to himself that he finds Valery’s sounds of frustration oddly endearing. He watches as the man takes a step without looking where he’s going, his heel colliding with a box, and in slow motion, Valery tumbles backwards and lands in his lap. He hears himself make a soft huff of surprise as he feels the impact of Valery’s buttocks on his thighs, mirroring Valery’s own little ‘oh!’ as he lands. Automatically, his hands fly out to grab Valery’s hips. Distantly, he thinks about ordering Valery some bigger trousers, it’s obvious that the waistband is digging into the soft excess flesh of Valery’s hips. Probably leaving a mark. Painful, red. Possibly in need of having some salve or something rubbed into it, he should massage the skin and feel his way across Valery’s chubby midsection–

“Boris? Could you, uh...” Valery says quietly.

Boris yanks his hands away and Valery stumbles to his feet. Of course he’s hard now. Whether Valery felt it or not is unknown but he’s definitely seen it. Is staring right at it, in fact, a blush high on his cheeks and the look of a startled rabbit.

“Oh... Boris, I... oh,” Valery stammers.

“I told you to clean up in here!” Boris barks angrily, quickly rising to his feet and stalking out of the trailer before Valery has a chance to respond. 

It’s subsided somewhat by the time he gets back to his room, hidden by the jacket he draped over his arm to prevent embarrassing himself in front of anyone on his journey back, but as soon as the door closes behind him blood begins rushing south again. Valery’s arse in his lap. Jesus Christ, no amount of self control could have helped him. So plush, pressed against his thighs and giving him a hint of what it would be like to slide between those cheeks and let their bulk cushion his thrusts into what he’s certain must be a tight and welcoming hole. He doesn’t even make it to the bed, simply tossing the jacket to the floor and hurriedly undoing his trousers so he can wrap his hand around his length and pull himself off in embarrassingly few strokes. 

As he leans against the door and looks down at the evidence of his obsession dripping from his hand, he knows he needs to get a fucking grip on himself.

—

Valery apparently has better timing than himself when it comes to walking into rooms without invitation, turning up ten minutes after Boris had washed the come from his hand and put on clean clothing. Still, when the man opens the door and marches in with a scowl on his face, it catches him off guard.

“Boris, we need to talk,” Valery says, fidgeting with his hands. “What happened earlier was–”

“Was nothing that needs mentioning again,” Boris cuts in with a glare.

Valery looks as though he’s going to open his damn mouth, until Boris gestures angrily around the room. There is no way in hell he’s discussing his reaction to Valery’s arse where Charkov can hear it. If Valery wants to ruin his life, he’ll have to do it by deliberately turning him in rather than blundering into it. Valery takes a deep breath and sinks to sit on the edge of Boris’ bed anyway. “Maybe not... now, then. Or here. But we still need to talk.“

Boris looks at the stubborn look on Valery’s face and not for the first time finds himself impressed at how bold this shy, awkward man can be.

“Valery, I understand if I’ve upset you,” he begins, keeping his tone measured, “but it was unintentional, and it won’t happen again. You have my word. Will that be all?”

For a painfully long moment, he can see Valery debating with himself whether or not to push the subject, and he breathes a sigh of relief when Valery raises to his feet.

“That’s all. For now.” He walks towards the door and Boris’ traitorous eyes follow the way his arse moves beneath the fabric of his trousers. Valery pauses as he reaches for the handle. “For the record, I wasn’t upset by what happened. Far from it, in fact.”

There’s a twitch in Boris’ hand that lingers even after the door closes from how badly he wants to grab at him, pull him back into the room and into a kiss.

—

The next few days are... interesting. Valery is skittish around him, more so than usual. Yet, he now sits closer at the table, letting their thighs touch, and often stands just close enough to him that their fingers brush. It’s not enough to be noticeable to outside observers, but it’s enough that Boris finds himself in desperate need of relief by the end of each day. He’s got a high sex drive for his age, but it’s been a good few decades since he’s been going at himself with such frequency and his need for something more than his hand is growing exponentially. It’s made so much worse on the second day after their talk. Alone with Valery in the elevator, standing behind him in the cramped space as it slowly crawls to their floor, temptation becomes far too much for him and before he can stop himself, he’s reaching forward to cup one of those delectable cheeks in his hand. It’s soft, luscious, and so utterly beautiful that he could cry. Valery freezes for a moment, then leans back into his chest with a quiet groan. 

“Boris...” Valery whispers, voice strained and breathy.

Boris leans down and kisses him just behind his ear. “Shh. Let me feel you while I can.”

“It isn’t safe.”

“But you want it?”

There’s a pause, a breath. “Yes. God, Borya, of course I want you.”

The elevator slows to a halt and he begrudgingly removes his hand. Valery walks out and turns left, walking stiffly but quickly down the corridor towards his room, leaving Boris to march to his own so he can deal with the dripping need between his thighs. He can almost feel the lingering warmth of Valery’s flesh in his hand as he strokes himself, but it’s the way Valery said his name that rings in his ears as he reaches his unsatisfying end.

He is gifted with an opportunity for more when they are unexpectedly recalled to Moscow, and he tries not to feel too ashamed of how quickly he strides towards Valery’s room to tell him the news.

“Boris?” Valery says as he opens the door. “Were we required for something?” 

Boris steps into the room, and rolls his eyes at the mess Valery has made of it. “We’re to head back to Moscow tomorrow. Another meeting at the Kremlin, don’t ask me what about. Be ready in the lobby in the morning at six.”

“How long are we supposed to be gone for? There’s things here that need my supervision, it’s not easy to just-“

“If we’re told to go, we go. Don’t argue. We’ll be back the day after.” Boris pauses and hopes his attempt to soften his expression has worked. “A night away from here, in our own homes, will do us good. Do you agree?”

For a moment it looks as though Valery will argue, until Boris sees the meaning of his words sink in fully. “Oh. Yes, you’re right. If we need to do any work while we’re away, perhaps we could meet?”

“Yes, that would be sensible.”

They look at each other, and Boris realises how close they are. He’s not sure which of them moved or when, but he’s standing so close he can smell the soap from Valery’s shower and it’d only take a small push forward to kiss him. The only thing that prevents him from closing the distance is knowing that it would be impossible for him to stop, and he doesn’t want to have Valery here, not where they can be heard. Still, he reaches out and cups Valery’s face, enjoying the soft gasp of surprise from the other man and runs his thumb over Valery’s blushing cheek. Those blue eyes are shining at him, there’s hot breath against his wrist. It’s more intense than... anything. More than anything he’s shared with former lovers. More than the heated glances exchanged across lecture halls with other young men that he could never bring himself to act upon. It’s torture to pull his hand away, worse when he sees Valery tilt a millimetre or two towards him.

“Soon,” he whispers, and Valery nods.

“Soon.”

—

The meeting is meaningless, and somewhere between the collective refusals to believe the truth over propaganda and Charkhov’s smug half-smiles, Boris wonders how he’d managed to live so much of his life in these hallowed halls without losing his mind. Maybe it’s exposure to Valery’s wide-eyed naivety, maybe it’s having to live in the reality these men so glibly deny, but he’s changed. He’s dying because of it, because of the natural conclusion to decades of men like that and men like he used to be, and it’s opened his eyes.

Valery, for his part, makes him proud. He holds his tongue, managed not to rile up Charkhov, and somehow avoids bursting the blood vessel in his forehead in the process. When they climb in the car, a change comes over him; the tension in his body evaporating with a weary sigh as he settles into the seat. Boris’ driver is a trustworthy man who’s been in his employ for years, so when Valery hesitantly shifts closer, Boris closes the distance and shrugs a shoulder at him until Valery’s head comes to rest on it. It’s comforting, intimate in a way Boris hasn’t felt for years.

“Ilya will drop you off first,” he says. 

Valery nods against him. “Fine, fine. And... later?”

“I can have him pick you up. Two hours?”

“That’ll be fine.”

—

He tidies away what little there is to tidy, showers, puts on the shirt that he knows makes his eyes look grey, and leaves the top two buttons open. It’s a level of jittery energy he hasn’t experienced in years, not since his first date with his second wife. The thought stops him in his tracks as he debates whether or not to have vodka set out on the table. Is it a date? Valery has made no real indication that he wants anything more from this meeting than a release of the pressure that’s built between them, and lord knows he wants that too but god help him, he wants more. He decides against setting out the vodka.

When Valery knocks, he has to control his steps so as not to run to the door, though he’s still breathless when he opens it and admits Valery into his apartment. They stand looking at each other for a moment or two, Valery looking as awkward as he feels and dressed surprisingly nicely in a sweater and blazer that have actually been ironed. He can smell aftershave, and noticed that Valery’s face shows none of the stubble it usually does at this time of day, and before he can stop himself, he’s brushing his fingers across the smooth skin of his jaw.

“You shaved,” he says.

Valery looks at him with eyes almost beginning to close. “Yes, I thought I would... make some effort. For you.”

There’s no controlling himself after that, and he backs Valery into the wall and presses their lips together with a groan. They’re softer than he imagined they would be, and feel fuller than they look. Valery’s arms come around his body and pull him closer, desire obvious in the way his fingertips dig into his back. Surprisingly, it’s Valery who first deepens the kiss, running the tip of his tongue over Boris’ bottom lip and into his mouth, teasing at his palate with unexpected skill. Any control he’d manage to hold onto is disappearing rapidly, any chance of sitting together and having a drink is gone. He needs Valery now. Valery’s blazer hits the floor, the kiss is broken only to pull Valery’s sweater over his head before resuming as Valery fumbles open his shirt. Neither of them are wearing vests and his hands are free to roam across Valery’s smooth chest, forcing a moan from deep in his chest.

“Bedroom...” Valery gasps. “Where... oh fuck...”

Boris grunts and pulls away, taking Valery’s sweating hand and dragging him to the bedroom, flicking on the light before hurriedly working open his trousers. He can feel the heat of Valery’s cock through the fabric, it’s the first time he’s ever felt another man like this, but it doesn’t shock him. He’s too lost in the sheer pleasure of finally being able to touch him. Valery toes his shoes off just as Boris begins pushing Valery’s trousers and briefs down his legs. Bare, he’s even more gorgeous than Boris had imagined, chubby and smooth and covered in freckles. His own trousers hit the floor, and suddenly they’re both naked, pressed together in the most wonderful way. Immediately he has to take Valery’s arse in his hands, squeezing the perfect plump cheeks and pulling them apart.

“Fuck, do you know what this does to me? Do you realise how crazy I’ve been, seeing this beautiful arse every day, knowing what it looks like bare?”

“I was so embarrassed,” Valery gasps, “when you saw me like that.”

He grabs Valery by the shoulders, roughly turning him and pushing him towards the bed, grateful when Valery takes the hint and kneels upon it, that perfect arse up in the air for him to admire. 

“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he croaks.

The small glimpse he got was nothing compared to this, an expanse of white, freckled flesh. The space between. The dusky skin surrounding the entrance to his body.

Boris’ mouth is dry.

As if in a trance, he climbs onto the bed and kneels behind him, pushing his cock between Valery’s buttocks and pressing them together around it. The desperate, furious need is still present but it’s been overtaken by a strange sense of calm.

Beneath him, Valery wriggles impatiently, pushing himself back against Boris’ cock. “You can fuck me. When... mmm, when you touched me in the elevator I... fucked myself. Imagining it was you.”

Of course Boris groans at that, the mental image of Valery plunging his fingers into himself, wishing it was his cock instead, it’s enough to make him feel lightheaded. He’s never done this before, doesn’t know the logistics of it beyond the obvious, but he knows he wants it. It’s like being a virgin again, a teenager unable to articulate his desires in any real way. He feels lost.

“Valera, I don’t... I’ve not been with a man,” he admits. “Tell me what to do.”

“Oh! Erm, we need something... do you have vaseline? Or... or oil?”

He begrudgingly climbs from the bed, furious with himself for not thinking ahead and being prepared and having it within easy reach, grabs the small pot of vaseline from his dresser, and returns to his previous position. With women, he learned quickly that it was polite to use his fingers first rather than just shoving himself in, and he imagines the same is true now. With a pair of greased fingers, he teases around Valery’s entrance, pressing against the muscle and swallowing as he breeches him. It’s so tight. It’s so fucking tight, tighter than any woman, tighter than he’d dared imagine, and fuck, he wants this around his cock. Valery moans, deeper and filthier than he would have believed the man possible of making.

“Ok?” he asks.

Valery pushes back onto his hand. “Mmm. Oh, fuck. Borya, fuck, that’s... oh, bend your fingers, there’s... FUCK, yes, just like that!”

There’s something firm and swollen in Valery, and whatever it is, it’s making Valery produce noises that make Boris’ cock twitch and drip. On impulse, he slaps one of Valery’s plump buttocks. Only lightly, but still it makes Valery cry out and tremble and clench around his fingers. He does it again, harder this time, the slap echoing through the room, almost completely drowned out by the loud cry of pain and pleasure Valery makes. Before he has a chance to ask if it’s ok, Valery sobs out a plea for more, and he hits him again. This is another thing Boris has never done before, another thing he has dreamed of doing, and he is torn between guilt over the deviancy in his desires and the need to keep going. Another slap, another cry from Valery, and any misgivings he’s having evaporate. He exists purely to serve Valery’s needs now and if this is what he wants, Boris will happily deliver it.

“Fuck, I’m ready,” Valery pants. “Just... in me, now, please.”

He’s still so tight, he can’t possibly be capable of taking Boris’ cock, but how can Boris deny him when Valery begs so prettily. More vaseline, smeared over the length of his cock and suddenly he’s plunging into Valery, splitting him open, forcing his way through clenched muscles until he’s buried in so deep that he never wants to leave. The heat and tightness is overwhelming, almost painful, but he doesn’t care. Again he slaps Valery’s arse, the other cheek this time, and the sudden clench around him crosses the boundary into pain, but oh, it’s better than any pain he’s ever felt. Valery whines, gasps out a plea for him to move, and he does, fucking into him, slapping his arse, gripping his hips so tightly his fingers feel like they may break. It’s unbearable. Every time his hand comes down, Valery bucks and clenches around him and begs for more. It’s hard, fast, brutal, decades of self denial and weeks of need unleashed with every hard snap of his hips. That perfect arse, jiggling and red from the blows he continues to rain down upon it, the constant stream of babbled pleas falling from Valery’s lips, every sense is overwhelmed with Valery.

“Come,” he growls, “come for me. Now.”

He sounds like he feels; some feral animal lost to the most base of urges. Valery whimpers and begins stroking himself, out of sync with the savage thrusts of Boris’ hips but just as frantic. They’re both so close now, he can feel it growing at the base of his cock, see it in the way Valery trembles. Boris wants so desperately to hold back, to feel this intensity forever, but he can’t take it anymore. With a loud groan that resembles Valery’s name, he’s losing it, spilling into Valery’s arse with disjointed thrusts and unable to breathe for the pleasure ripping through him. Just as he’s coming back to himself, Valery hits his peak too, clenching around him in harsh pulses, and Boris slaps his arse again even as he’s almost sobbing from the feeling of Valery squeezing his oversensitive cock.

Finally, Valery’s legs give out and he collapses onto the bed in a fucked out heap. Boris only narrowly avoids crushing him, landing to his side and draping an arm over his sweaty back and pressing his face close to Valery’s hair. They don’t speak, it’s a miracle they can even breathe. All he wants to do is sleep, to pull Valery close and whisper affection at him, tell him how gorgeous he is, how smart, how infuriating.

“Ok?” he grunts after a while.

Valery hums his agreement and rolls to face him. “Christ.”

They kiss, lazy and sloppy. It’s a nice ending, Boris thinks, and hopefully a sign that Valery would indeed like to stay. Their legs intertwine, Valery’s sticky torso pressed against his own. He shudders as he feels a wetness on his knee, his own come dripping from Valery’s body. If he were only a few years younger, he could take him again on that thought alone.

“We should shower,” Valery mumbles. “You should probably change your sheets, too. Would you... would you mind if I stayed a while?”

Smiling, Boris just kisses him again. Valery makes a lovely little sound of satisfaction and tangles his fingers in the short hair at the top of Boris’ neck, scraping his scalp with chewed-on fingernails, and it’s clear that’s all the conversation they’ll be having until one of them eventually finds the stickiness too uncomfortable. It’s all they need. The sexual tension and unbearable pressure between them has shrunk to manageable levels, leaving in its wake an intense desire to truly know this man and be known in return, and Boris allows himself to believe this desire will be satisfied. Valery hums contentedly again, and Boris mirrors the sound with one of his own. For the first time in a while, he knows he’ll sleep well tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Thegreenmeridian.tumblr.com


End file.
